"You'll give them exactly what they want." My mouth moves before my brain signs off. Everyone turns.
Great. Excellent. Keep digging, Iowyn.
"An excuse," well, I’m committed now. "A justification. You attack Faith tonight, and tomorrow every House in the Concord has proof that Discord starts wars over accidents."
"Accidents?" The scarred man's voice goes hard. "They murdered—"
"I know." My throat aches. "I was there. I pulled bodies out of the rubble. I watched him throw himself under a collapsing building for a woman and her kid. I know exactly what Faith did. But if you hit back with fire and slaughter, the story stops being about their crime. It becomes about your reaction."
Silence.
"Faith runs on legitimacy. Public trust. They're the House of order, of righteousness, of divine judgment—and their power doesn't come from armies. It comes from belief. People believe Faith speaks truth. People believe Faith acts for the greater good."
The silver-haired woman shifts. "So?"
"So you show them the lie." I lean forward, building this out of the hours I spent learning Discord's operations. "We have the proof—make it public. Let everyone see that the House of righteousness murdered civilians and covered it up. Let their own believers turn on them."
Silence. Longer this time.
"You're suggesting we—what." The scarred man's mouth twists. "Write letters?"
"I'm suggesting you let Faith hang themselves." The words are coming from somewhere cold and tired, somewhere that just wants this over. "They think they're untouchable because they're holy. Because no one questions the righteous. So make people question. Make the lie so visible no one can ignore it. And when Faith's own followers start asking why their priests ordered children blown up—" I stop. Swallow. "That's when they fall. Not from your blades. From their own rot, exposed."
I can feel Koshin's attention on me. Heavy. Unreadable.
The Discord leaders exchange glances—calculating, reassessing, trying to figure out how a mortal woman showed up days ago and is now sitting in their war council making suggestions about holy warfare.
"Exposure is first." Koshin's voice cuts through. "Their leader dies. That outcome is not negotiable."
Everyone looks at him.
"Faith's leader ordered this. Signed off on murdering my people." His eyes are steady, calm—worse than rage. "They will answer for that with blood. The rest—politics, exposure, public theater—I'll allow. But the head of Faith dies by my hand. That's the cost. That's how this ends."
I don't flinch. I don't argue.
"Okay."
His gaze sharpens.
"Yes, I got it. Aright," I say again. "Exposure first. Collapse of authority. Then you get your kill. Does that work?"
He holds my stare.
"That works."
The scarred man opens his mouth, closes it, glances at Renan—who offers nothing but that blank, careful expression that says this is above my pay grade and I'm enjoying watching you all realize it.
"Orders." Koshin's voice shifts, commanding now. "I want every piece of evidence gathered. Witnesses interviewed. Documentation compiled and ready to distribute. Fast and quiet. Faith doesn't know we're coming until everyone else already knows what they did."
The Discord leaders nod. One by one. Some slow, some reluctant, but they all nod.
"Go."
They go, filing out and throwing glances back at the table—at Koshin, at me. The silver-haired woman pauses at the exit, holds my gaze a beat too long, then disappears.
The door closes.
Three of us left. Renan, Koshin, and the mortal who talked her way into a war council and walked out with her throat intact.
